Il Dottore
When I came back from reanimation, there was a new person in the bed next to mine. I found out over time that he was one of the leading cardiac surgeons in Sicily, and had been retired for a little while. His face reminded me a bit of my friend Carl's.
His wife was with him most of the time, and slept on a folding chair in the room at night in case he needed anything. When his children came to visit, I found out that I had a mutual acquaintance with one of Il Dottore's sons.
They were always friendly with me, and after Franca warmed up to me a little, and got used to the idea that my pronunciation was not always perfect, she did whatever she could do to help me as well.
Often she would just sit with Il Dottore and they would talk softly to each other in Sicilian. It was the first time I had heard Sicilian spoken that way, usually it is the language of arguements, or of confusing and loud stage shows. The beautiful sweet tones of the language came out as they were talking to each other.
Il Dottore became a friend as I recovered. It was he who first understood the problem of the parrot, and we were able to laugh about that. We also talked about Cava de Cusa, the old mines where parts what would become the ruins of Selinunte were mined, the site where the workers walked off the job, leaving their tools behind, when they saw the size of an approaching Punic invasionary naval force.
Unfortunately, the thoracic surgery unit was not able to help Il Dottore, so he was sent home to await a flight to see another sort of specialist in Rome. His condition worsened while he was waiting for news, and he and his family decided he would rather wait at home.
He is a good man, and he will be facing a tough fight, and my thoughts are with he and his family.
Auguri, tanti auguri Dottore e Amico Mio. e in Bocca a lupa.
His wife was with him most of the time, and slept on a folding chair in the room at night in case he needed anything. When his children came to visit, I found out that I had a mutual acquaintance with one of Il Dottore's sons.
They were always friendly with me, and after Franca warmed up to me a little, and got used to the idea that my pronunciation was not always perfect, she did whatever she could do to help me as well.
Often she would just sit with Il Dottore and they would talk softly to each other in Sicilian. It was the first time I had heard Sicilian spoken that way, usually it is the language of arguements, or of confusing and loud stage shows. The beautiful sweet tones of the language came out as they were talking to each other.
Il Dottore became a friend as I recovered. It was he who first understood the problem of the parrot, and we were able to laugh about that. We also talked about Cava de Cusa, the old mines where parts what would become the ruins of Selinunte were mined, the site where the workers walked off the job, leaving their tools behind, when they saw the size of an approaching Punic invasionary naval force.
Unfortunately, the thoracic surgery unit was not able to help Il Dottore, so he was sent home to await a flight to see another sort of specialist in Rome. His condition worsened while he was waiting for news, and he and his family decided he would rather wait at home.
He is a good man, and he will be facing a tough fight, and my thoughts are with he and his family.
Auguri, tanti auguri Dottore e Amico Mio. e in Bocca a lupa.
posted by Steve at 3:17 PM
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